


spaces in between

by CapnShellhead



Series: Kinktober 2018 [17]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel
Genre: College, Eavesdropping, Kinktober, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Other, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 06:12:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16402808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CapnShellhead/pseuds/CapnShellhead
Summary: Matt comes back to their apartment a little early and hears Foggy taking advantage of his time alone.





	spaces in between

**Author's Note:**

> I'm surprised it took me this long to write Matt/Foggy. 
> 
> For Kinktober Day 17 "Masturbation"

Foggy was a quiet roommate.

All things considered, he was perfect for Matt. He kept his side of the room fairly clean, didn’t come in late at all hours of the night, and he didn’t ask too many questions about why Matt came back every night with more bruises than he had the night before. Foggy was sweet and he looked after Matt as best he could, considering Matt rarely made it easy. Foggy was a great roommate.

Which was why Matt, very graciously, didn’t burst into their apartment when he came back late from “studying” with Elektra and heard the quiet shuffle of sheets and the soft slap of skin against skin. His face warmed, still a little on edge from his time in Elektra’s backseat. Foggy was alone; Matt could tell that much. With his hand on the doorknob, he could hear Foggy’s hushed breaths and no one else’s. The scent of Foggy’s sweat and precome; and no one else’s.

If Matt was being entirely honest with himself, and he wasn’t, it was a relief.

He could hear the sound of Jason White’s stereo a floor below them and Krystal King’s poor attempts to memorize her lines for Twelfth Night. He could hear Francesca Solis’ boyfriend nervously pacing the floor a few doors down, waiting for her to come home so he could propose. Matt could even hear the steady drip, drip, drip of the broken pipe in the apartment above theirs.

So, there was no avoiding the quiet sigh of his name on Foggy’s tongue. No avoiding the quiet twist in his stomach as Foggy’s hand sped up desperately, his breath quickening as the bed rocked gently. No ignoring the low whine in the back of his throat and the way it stoked the fire coiling in Matt’s belly. The way it answered the question he’d been too afraid to ask.

This wasn’t the first time; it wouldn’t be the last. He’d continue to stay out here, convinced he wasn’t welcome inside. It was one thing to lose himself beneath the spray of a shower, where he could be anyone,  _ with _ anymore. It was another thing to tell Foggy; to make it  _ real _ .

Besides, Foggy was…  _ Foggy _ . He was noble and kind; Mr. Support the Downtrodden. Mr. Lay the Groundwork before he’d even consider approaching someone he was interested in. He deserved someone who would put the work in. He deserved someone that hadn’t given up on being a real part of the world. He deserved someone  _ good _ .

But here, resting his cheek against the cool wood of their door… here Matt could  _ pretend _ . He could imagine what it would be like to touch Foggy, to earn those soft little sounds for himself. Here, he could pretend he was someone worth wanting.

His ears strained for more of those quiet little moans, quieting his breathing as he bit down on his lip.

“Hey, you locked out?” Francesca.

He smiled, shaking his head and keeping his voice low. “Just trying to figure out if I should go back to the library for another hour or two.”

A musical laugh and the quiet click of heels, further away. “It’s a Saturday, Murdock. Take a break, for once.”

“Maybe I will,” he replied, smile widening. Her door opened and closed and Matt returned to his own.

Foggy had been close; Matt heard it: that familiar intake of breath, the stiffening of his body before his hand slowed and he drew it out. Almost like he was punishing himself and Matt knew a little something about self-punishment.

The bedsprings creaked, Foggy’s heart rate ticked up as his hand quickened and Matt gripped the door jamb, listening intently. A steady stream of pleas met his ears, each making Matt’s cock pulse with need, constrained in his jeans. He bit down a groan, breathing heavier as he tensed with the effort to rein himself in.

“Matt, please,” Foggy whispered, a breathy sob escaping as he cursed and bucked into his hand.

Shuddering, Matt gripped the door jamb tighter, that cloying heat burning throughout his body, threatening to burn through the last of his resolve.

He remembered promising never to spy on Foggy like this. Before that first time, he’d kept his head down and smiled when he came back to the heady scent of sex. He’d smiled and nodded when Foggy’s heart ticked up after a blatant lie about studying all night. Grinned and bore it when Foggy made his excuses about meeting up with Javier to work on a group project, the crinkle of a condom wrapper in his front pocket. Matt had done his best to give Foggy his privacy and he was violating it now.

He could leave. He could make as much noise as possible and alert Foggy to his presence. He could open the door and apologize for listening in. He could do any one of these things.

Instead, he rested his cheek against the door, listening to the quiet sounds of the empty hall and Foggy’s hitched breaths. He was close; Matt could hear it in thinness of his voice, the desperate, needy tone of his pleas. The steady mantra of God’s name and Matt’s, the same inflection, the same desire and plea for mercy. The rapid pace of his heart, the extra little half twist of his hand over the head on every upstroke. He could hear the smooth slide of his fist, how wet he was and he bit down a strangled moan, dropping a hand to his groin. He slid a hand inside, taking hold of himself as he thought about how turned Foggy got just thinking about him; imagining what Foggy saw in his mind.

In a way, every barely stifled moan, every gasp, every soft sigh belonged to Matt. Quiet confessions behind closed doors. Signs of how far gone he was for his best friend; his room a quiet place of worship where he could let himself have this fantasy, where he could happily indulge before shoving it far, far down below several layers of congenial, overly enthusiastic friendship and platonic touches to the arm and back. This was the only time Foggy could be himself.

Just like this was the only time Matt didn’t have to pretend he couldn’t hear him.

It was over between one breath and the next. Two quick strokes, one shuddering curse and Foggy was coming, hips bucking and smoothing out into a rhythm to drag it out. Matt brought himself off soon after, spilling in his hand and the inside of his shirt, panting into the wood. He rode it out, listening to Foggy moan softly and lay his hand to rest on his stomach, a sated sigh making Matt’s cock pulse with need.

A few doors down, Francesca’s excited feet pad across the floor as she leapt into her boyfriend’s arms and squealed in delight. Krystal King got through a few pages of Viola’s lines, celebrating with a can of beer. Jason White turned his stereo off and turned out his light.

Matt took a few deep breaths, wiping his hand on the inside of his shirt before reaching inside his pants pocket and jingling his keys. Sheets rustled inside as Foggy’s socked feet hit the floor and he hurriedly grabbed a pair of sweats. Matt pasted on a friendly smile and opened the door.

“Hey, Nelson. Having a good night?”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Visit me on [tumblr!](https://capn-shellhead.tumblr.com/)


End file.
